


Keeps On Giving

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will spanks Chris with a paddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeps On Giving

The few times that they try it, it's Will taking it. Which—works, and Chris gets a buzz off of the power of bringing his hand down and seeing the prints of his fingers splayed red white and pink over Will's gorgeous ass. He gets off on spanking Will through orgasm, Will's cock rutting down into the mattress and his groans muffled by the pillow that's being roughly abused by his clenching fingers.

Later, someone buys them a ridiculous rainbow-colored paddle as a gag gift, and one thing leads to another (wine may have been one of those things), and before Chris considers the idea too thoroughly he's blurting, "We should use it. You should use it. On me."

And then they fall asleep in a drunken heap and Brian chews one of Will's slippers to bits because they forget to feed him his wet food that night and this was a trespass that couldn't go unpunished, and they forget about it, until Will is straightening the house the week after and finds the paddle under the couch, covered in cat hair. He cleans it off and tucks it into the table beside their bed.

"Was that just an alcohol-inspired request, or do you want me to spank you?" he asks, the next time that they're ramping up in bed with nowhere to be the next morning.

Chris is just far gone enough into arousal that he's willing to not qualify the statement when he replies, "If you want to swap places, sure."

Which is how he ends up on all fours—well, on his knees and elbows, to be specific—with his forehead glued to the mattress and his boxer briefs around his thighs and Will swatting his up-turned ass cheeks far, far too gently to really do anything. He's hard, but it's a distant feeling, and surprised because he thought he might not like this at all, but apparently he likes it enough to want more than Will is currently giving him.

It's shockingly hot. The dim light from their bedside lamp, the noise of their accelerated breathing, the gentle squeak of the mattress as each slap sends Chris rocking forward on his knees and elbows—ridiculously hot, and he wants more.

"Harder," he says, into the thick silence, and Will breathes heavier.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

The next slap stings, actually lingers after the wood peels away from Chris' sweat-sticky skin, and the way that the pain fizzles along his nerve endings, the way that it makes a sort of sexually charged panic rush his chest and throat and face, is enough to make him gasp. Which is enough to make Will do it again, and again, and again, until Chris is stiffening fully between his legs and curling his fingers into the sheets to hold on so that he can meet the paddle.

"Fuck," he hisses, after a dozen or so, and Will stops.

"Good?" he asks, concerned but obviously aroused by Chris' reactions.

Chris breathes around the odd combination of physical and mental sensations that are playing tag across the landscape of his body—he's not so much surprised that he likes it, the pain, but he is taken off-guard by the formless whirl of echoing _want_ that his thoughts currently resemble. His heart is throbbing in a way that almost borders fear, and his skin is alive with goosebumps, the hair on the back of his arms standing on end. He feels overwhelmed and weightless, a vehicle for the pain.

"Keep going," he replies. He sets his knees and buries his face in the crook of his elbow.

And Will keeps going, faster and harder and fuck, fuck, fuck it hurts, but it's good, it's so good, Chris' tolerance rising and rising. He can't stop whimpering and breathing loudly, can't stop twisting the sheets between his fingers, can't stop nearing the edge of too much and then setting the mark farther out every time with a determined _you can take it you can take it it's Will it's okay it's perfect_ thrumming through him.

His cock is throbbing. He can feel the head swell up tight with blood. He doesn't think he can come from just this, but it almost feels as if it's possible, and feeling how responsive he is to this is making that response all the stronger, a self-perpetuating circuit that charges and charges until he thinks that he might be pushing himself too far.

"Will," he moans, lifting his ass higher just to test the muscles in his thighs and pelvis, just to feel how close he is to coming by rutting the head of his own cock along his belly. It's sticky at the tip, catches on his belly hairs and sticks and drags and oh, god, yes, so good. "W-wait."

"God, look at you," Will whispers, and spreads his fingers lightly over Chris' cheeks, glowing bright red and hot to the touch, beautiful streaks of color atop goosebumps and pale brown hair and muscles.

Chris shudders, gasps out the sensation to the sheets and bends, back down, ass up, toes curled, thigh and calf muscles clenched.

"Talk to me. Are you okay?"

"I'm going to come," he replies, shock and arousal twisting the words up.

"Are—are you serious?"

"Oh my god, I'm going to come so hard, just, squeeze? Just hold me open and squeeze—"

Will doesn't question it. Chris feels his fingers cup and then close tight, dragging his cheeks apart, together, and then apart again, his thumbs dancing along Chris' crack and over his dry hole, and Chris wraps a hand around the head of his cock and tugs it, hard, repetitive, unforgiving little jerks, and comes all over the bed with a string of high-pitched whimpers.

"Oh my god," Will says, nearly panting. Chris can feel him touch himself.

He looks over his shoulder, his face as red as his ass, pleasure written all over his slack muscles and parted mouth, and says, "Come on my ass."

Will's hand flies, eyes rolling back in his head. It only takes about a minute and he's arching forward, flushed to his beaded nipples, sweating, belly heaving, fingers a blur around his cock, and Chris feels both his own cock and asshole throb at the sight of Will shooting white all over his abused ass cheeks and back, painting skin and freckles alike.

It's probably the quickest and the kinkiest thing that they've ever done.

Will smears his come along Chris' spine, more in search of a handhold than anything else, and Chris closes his eyes and shakes.

"That was insane," he says.

"Also the best ever."

"Also the best ever," he agrees.

"Do you think Oliver is going to want a full account?"

"He did give it to us," Chris says, smirking.

It's the least they can do, after all.


End file.
